This Bitch Is No Friend Of Mine

It's that happy little time of the month again. My "friend" has arrived.

Check it out... this crampy, bloated, carb craving, sobbing one moment, raging the next, make me wanna live in my sweatpants for the next three days, bloody bitch is NO friend of mine!

What kind of friend tells you that you look like a peg-legged pirate in your capris? Or that your thighs are as big as you think they are and for that matter so is your gut?

An honest friend?

Wrong answer a-hole! Wanna try again? Yeah, that's what I thought. I'll be asking the questions and giving the answers today. Take notes because there might be a test at the end and if you don't have the right answers I'm going to call you a failure. You'll suck. Like my period.

For several days leading up to the arrival of my least favorite Aunt ("Aunt Flow," you know) my body starts telling me the most obnoxious lies I've ever heard. Trust me, I've heard some doozies.

Let's start with... "Hey fat ass, just because it zips doesn't mean it fits."
Uh, it fit last week, what the hell happened? Oh yeah, Aunt Flow forgot a real present and re-gifted her bloat. Fine. I'll wear something else. Just because my size 2 jeans don't wanna button doesn't mean I'm a fat ass. It means I am a woman on the edge...of her cycle. Besides, my tits are huge right now and that's what they see first. They can kiss this fat ass as I walk away.

Let's move on to the next lie. "Your worst fear is going to come true. The genetic, emotional, and psychological disorders in your family tree did NOT skip your branch and the voices in your head are real."
If they are, and they aren't (right?) I'm going to start walking around whispering to myself, "Hey, you guys in there, shut the eff up or I'm going to stab you with a q-tip." Nuff said?

Then there's the lie only us writers hear. "Everything you write is crap. No one is reading it. No one wants to read it. Stick a pen in your eye, then wear a patch and talk like a pirate. That would be far more interesting than this shit."
I actually contemplated this one longer than I'd like but only because I dressed up like a pirate for Halloween a few years ago and, hold onto your buccan-ears, I was one hot piece of pirate booty. The rest of the lie is, well, just a lie. My "analytics" (a traffic counter thingy-ma-bobber I attached to this here little blog) tells me people ARE reading, even when there's nothing new to read. They may not be commenting but they're coming back for more. I don't leave comments at the McDonald's drive thru but I keep going back for more french fries. French fries are good. I like french fries and you like me or you wouldn't be here. Bonus: I'm better for you than a french fry.

Lastly, (Not because I'm out of lies my body tells me but because I am almost out of ranting time, lucky you.)
"That cramping and clawing sensation in your lower abdomen has nothing to do with your cycle. You were kidnapped by aliens and they had their way with you. You're growing an army of aliens in you right now." Really? Fine. Bring it. While on my period, I'm a badder bitch than Sigourney Weaver ever was and I don't even have to shave my head. But just in case, I'm armed with Midol and a loaded bong*. Just kidding about the bong, haven't actually owned one in years. Everyone knows vaporizing is the way to go. Yeah, I'll vaporize the aliens, that sounds better anyway, no mess to clean up.

*Dani Lamb does not advocate the use of illegal drugs, only medicinal.